Five Little Steps
by BluePard
Summary: Young Thatz wonders just why he's left out in the cold.


  
Distant music filtered wistfully into the streets, its happiness dimmed to melancholy by the walls which kept in warmth and light. Outside, the flickering of candles just made the melting snow seem colder. The dancing of others just reminded the poor of the creaking of their own bones and caused them to huddle closer.  
The youngest of the poor, a lad in single digits, was mystified by the separation between in and out. Five steps (plus the opening of a door) and he would be safe and comfortable and warm. But for some reason, these were steps impossible to take. It would be far easier for him to journey to another town, even with his short legs and knobby knees, than to step within. It was not just that he would be kicked out. Apparently, there was something to do with manners and honor that decreed he must accept his lot.  
_But if I stepped within,_ he glanced around the edges of his collar at the door, _would they have the heart to kick me out?_  
Would they say, poor thing, let him stay? Or would they say: it's dirty, toss it out. Despite his youth, he did understand that having to be told to leave--not understanding where he belonged and to stay there--would somehow make him even less than he was now.  
But it was _so_ cold. The snow melted around his feet and crawled up his cloth, the wind bit at his face. Somehow it seemed worse now than when it had been pure snow. Perhaps because it had been so cold for so long...  
The lights in the houses eventually went out. The world, colored in blue but for the ring around the moon, seemed devoid of life, despite the snoozing of his fellow beggars.  
Of course, if there were no one around, there was no one to cast him away.  
He stood slowly, bones cracking. The slush sucked at his foot as he lifted it. And lowered it. Gently. One step. No one was awake. Again with the other--wincing at how loud the snow was in the silence. Two steps. No one cared. Who was he kidding? Who would notice a dirty child taking a few steps? But he took the next few just as carefully, just the same. Now the door, of course. It would probably be locked. He had to stand on tip-toes just to reach. The freezing metal knob bit his hand for grasping it, and screeched as he tried to turn it. Again, the other way, but nothing. He jiggled it, nerves binding.  
He was a fool.  
He lowered his arm and his heels, head down. That was what he had not quite understood. Now, not only was he poor and cold, he was stupid as well. He wiped his face off on a sleeve. Not that he was crying--it was just the wind, streaking 'cross his cheeks. He would never cry just because he was hungry and cold and stupid. He had his pride.  
These warm people, where was their pride? If _he_ were warm, with all his house to share, he would share it. He would not hoard the warmth for empty air. He would open this door.  
And the little boy, would he accept? Didn't he have that pride?  
Then what? He was doubly doomed. His pride was too much to beg, his pride was too much to receive? He would have to accept that he could have no pride. Being poor made him stupid and prideless. No wonder the warm ones didn't want him. But how did they get warm, anyway?  
He crouched on the slush of the stoop, vaguely waiting for an answer from the silence.  
Had someone decided that they were worthy, and he was not? But, no. They couldn't have been given it. If they hadn't had it, they would be poor and stupid and unworthy, like him. No one would give it to them.  
Did they make it? But you had to have something to make something. Even if they built this house, even if they chopped down every tree, carved every board, nailed every plank, they needed the land. He didn't know how you got land, but you couldn't just use what was free from use. Elsewise, why did people keep shooing him away?  
How did anyone have anything, ever?  
He rocked back and forth on his heels, head bumping softly against the door, the lock making a rhythmic "click" with each push ... he blinked and tried it again, and found the sticky catch loosened. The door swung on its heel, revealing the in: a world that was dark and foreboding, but also warm, enticing, bewitching, potent with possibilities.  
How did anyone have anything? Simple. They took it. To take and fail made you below human, but, to take and succeed ... one was stupidity and weakness, the other, smarts and strength.  
Everything...  
He took a step.  
Residing...  
And another, as his eyes grew accustomed to the dark.  
On yourself...  
Five little steps and the opening of a door.


End file.
